


one thousand and one questions with anthony janthony crowley

by annapotterkiku, honeyedgold



Series: silly philosophy with anthony janthony crowley and aziraphale ziraphale fell (and other related persons) [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley's Fall (Good Omens), Crowley-centric (Good Omens), Curses, Existential Crisis, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mentioned Aziraphale (Good Omens), Not Beta Read, Other, Pre-Canon, Pre-Fall (Good Omens), Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 14:41:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20259742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annapotterkiku/pseuds/annapotterkiku, https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyedgold/pseuds/honeyedgold
Summary: His fall was painful. It stung, sure, but it wasn’t because his wings had been burned black, or because his hair had been burned into dry copper, or because of the snake eyes, or the ugly name of Crawly. Crowley was in pain because he fell without learning anything worthwhile.





	one thousand and one questions with anthony janthony crowley

"In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth," even three-year-old kids know this. The first day, They created light. The second day, land and sky. The third day, flora. Stars. Fauna. Humans. And on the seventh day, They went to blow off stress. 

What Crowley doesn’t understand is when he got stuffed into existence. 

Let’s have a roll call: light, heaven and earth, stars, trees, animals, humans. Six days of Creation, six things made. And Crowley wasn’t an animal, vegetable, or mineral. He was an angel, hundreds of steps above all that. See, appearance-wise, he had more eyes, heads, arms, and wings than them, in addition to a fiery mane that would make the laws of physics weep. And when it comes to usefulness? He had been Their enforcer, the right hand to strike down enemies and write regular reports, since those earthly things were nothing but globs of gooey mud.  
  
Yet, wham, just like that, all of the Books in existence made it sound as if all of them were package deals that come with enlightenment to the Glory. Hundreds of tomes with the same take, just like after Elon Musk has declared himself savior of the 21th century and his entire company of hundreds and thousands of people popped up out of nowhere. No one cares about the gofers.

But that’s quite enough bellyaching. The point is that Crowley was once very curious about his origins, as he has realized he had to originate from somewhere. And of course, all of his questions about, well, almost everything that wasn’t mentioned in the Book, were brushed aside without any regrets. 

(Almost, because once he dared to tag along with Metatron for three… days? - the concept of time was foggy back then - trying to get a reasonable explanation for the critters breeding down in Australia. “System error” was the only thing he managed to pry from that ever so loquacious mouth.)

And just as Crowley had told himself, he didn’t mean to trip and fall on his face downstairs, he just got too close to it. It was hard to resist the allure of -  _ knowledge. _ He asked too many questions, he knew, but he was young, and children are allowed to be curious. (Even though most of his fellow angels had about as many emotions as a hunk of wood and pretended they were true-blue Terminators. Crowley had never paid much mind to those bores, just as they had never paid any mind to anything outside of obedience.)

Then one day, he spotted the Woman looking at the apple dangling from its branch. The same look as he had, as Lucifel had, with that little night discussion group that he had been wanting to join. 

Contrary to the trashy propaganda in some of those Books, Crowley didn’t force her to do anything. He just asked a question. 

His fall was painful. It stung, sure, but it wasn’t because his wings had been burned black, or because his hair had been burned into dry copper, or because of the snake eyes, or the ugly name of Crawly. Crowley was in pain because he fell without learning anything worthwhile. 

Since his name became Crawley and his myriad limbs were replaced with snakeskin, Crowley had been more concerned about rhetorical questions rather than the whats, the whys, and the hows. 

"What did we do to deserve exile?”

"Maybe the causes of the Revolution* - all of the questions without an answer, all of the prayers without responses, - maybe everything was in Their Great Plan?"

"Who are we? Pawns or rebels?"

(*Saying “Revolution” wasn’t quite correct, because what did it change Upstairs? That being said, Below has a taboo on the F-word.)

Crowley’s interest in rhetorical questions lasted exactly three human weeks, because after those three weeks Crowley got caught in a string of questions, of which he only dared to voice one half. In chronological order: 

Yes/No - "Didn’t you have a flaming sword? You did. It was flaming like anything."

What - "You whAT?????"

How - "How are you still an angel? Heaven would never forgive you!"

Why - "But why did you give it aw- ?"

What, once again - "What-?!"

How, once again - "How the FUCK do I turn off?? These?? Emotions??????????? Huh??"

Why, once again - "Why am I...?"

And lastly: Yes/No, once again - "Do you want to go off with me?"

...

This time it must have been a matter of luck, because he got the answer by the time Armageddon didn’t roll around. 


End file.
